


King's Rising

by HenceComesAutumn



Series: Kingdom Come [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BUT NOT THIS TIME, F/M, Fix-It, I just want more of them, I swear it's not a cheesy soulmate story though please trust me, OC'S ARE NOT JUST INSERTED AS LOVE INTERESTS., Sort Of, Soulmate AU, adding some more strong and diverse female leads to this story, and all characters in between, because I need more of this representation, because Tolkien already has some great female characters, character arcs and character development, combined parts of the movies and book, healthy and supportive platonic relationships, heroes who aren't beefy meatcakes with an 84-pack of abs, hobbits are badass and we need more of them, nobody's jumping straight into a relationship on sight in this story my friends, one decides to intervene a little bit, slowburn romance, sometimes those are nice, the Valar essentially realize that Thorin's quest needs to succeed but that shit is going to go down, we have soft characters and tough characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-09-26 01:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenceComesAutumn/pseuds/HenceComesAutumn
Summary: "...One knows things as they have been, one sees things that have yet to be, and the third... She has the power to change it all."----In the unassuming mid-summer of 2937, three things would happen that were not entirely by coincidence. First, Thorin Oakenshield would begin re-contemplating just how impossible it might be to reclaim the lost kingdom of Erebor. Second, suspicious activity would pick up along the Eastern border, leading many to cast a wary eye on Mordor, budding whispers of doubt beginning to spread as they hadn't in an age. And lastly, arguably the most important of all circumstances, three young women would take their first shuddering, gasping breaths in Middle Earth, one burning with indignation and vengeance for the past, one with visions and questions of the future, and another yearning for an adventure beyond any sane Hobbit's wildest imagination.Having done what they could, the Valar stepped away and watched- not by coincidence, these events, not in the slightest.Time would only tell if it had been enough to see Middle Earth survive the trials to come.





	1. PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

 

"It is done."

A hushed, tense quiet came over those gathered. Finally, a voice broke free from the circle of glowing individuals, their auras thick and crackling with contained energy and power.

"There is nothing else we can do, then?"

"We would dare put so much faith in such a risk?"

"Have we any other choice? Have _they_ any other choice?"

"No," All other speakers lapsed into silence as one figure stepped forward, striding to the center of the circle, and facing the crowd without hesitation, "No, we've done what we can. It is up to them now," All eyes fell to the ground, each individual mulling on their own thoughts of the world they'd done their best to protect, "The future of Middle Earth rests balanced on the tip of a knife. Hopefully, we've managed to slightly tip the scales."

\-----

Perhaps this tale would have suffered a very different ending, had that truly been the end of the Valar's involvement in the matter at hand.

It was in secret that one of the ethereal beings parted with a sliver of their power. Only a sliver and still, it's removal and loss was felt as one tends to feel a pinprick, even if it only draws a drop or two of blood.

Only a sliver, and a prayer that it would somehow be enough.

\-----

It was in the dead heat of summer, slow and heavy, and of the year 2937 that the first lass was dragged from the shoreline of the Brandywine. Some called her blessed and others bewitched for the fact she hadn't drowned, but the all-around truth of the matter was that she was just plain lucky. The Brandywine wasn't known for being kind, and yet it had seemingly spit up a survivor. A Hobbit woman, all but gone to the world though her heart still beat. There were hushed conversations about what was to be done with her for a full five days before the poor girl finally opened her eyes, shocked and bewildered, and knowing nothing more about her person than her name. She would settle in the Shire, a quiet life for someone whose life had proved quite eventful, even if she couldn't remember any of the rest of it before the night on the river. And yet, a part of her would always be itching for more- itching for something that lay beyond the green of the hills, and out into the beyond.

\-----

It was in the dead heat of summer, slow and heavy, and of the year 2937 that the second woman gave a shuddering gasp of a breath in the arms of an elderly healer who would later claim to have found her laying in the grass outside her hut.  For the first day after her revival, the girl was plagued with visions of fire and death, and a mountain- a mountain with a single peak- as she lay trembling on a makeshift cot, sweating out of her skin, and leaving the healer at a loss for words. Eventually, the dwarven woman would regain her strength, but never her memory of her past. Her memory with other things, medicines included, happened to be rather useful. She would become an apprentice to the matron healer who had saved her life, and dedicate her supposed second chance to save the lives of others. She would still catch herself questioning burning lakes and lonely mountains long after her first vision, though, and would often wonder whether or not the hallucinations had been something more akin to an omen.

\-----

It was in the dead heat of summer, slow and heavy, and of the year 2937 that the third girl woke with a blood-chilling scream, left in the woods to her own devices. She awoke to the memory of blood in her mouth, to the present of darkness pressing in on all sides, and to the ever-watchful eye of the stars gazing down, blinking and twinkling with curiosity at this wreck of a woman who could do nothing but fall to her knees and scream, scream, scream, with nobody there to hear. Unlike the other two, she _could_ remember, or at least remember some of what she had lived through before her awakening. More precisely, she could remember her family- her family that was now lost to her, somewhere out there beyond her reach. Darkness was what she opened her eyes to, and she let it fester inside her, wandering the lands in search of something she feared, deep down, she would never be able to obtain again, while simultaneously building up a burning pile of hatred and anger in her heart for whoever had torn her from the reach of her loved ones in the first place. Finding them was her solitary goal, vengeance becoming a close second.

This one did not settle, and she did not heal. 

And that, Dear Reader, is where we begin our story.


	2. Chapter One: The Search

 

**DESS**

 

"One hundred pieces; that was our deal!"

I bristled as the man before me tutted loudly, scratching his stubbled jaw with one large, glove-clad hand, and trying to stare me down with eyes so dark I couldn't tell what was pupil and what was not. I was a fool to think he'd keep his word; arrogant man with the twisted smile and twitching hands that he was. 

_'Disgusting pig.'_ Had I any better option, I would have taken it; but I needed a quick route from Bree to Fornost, and the man's caravan had been the only party I'd met travelling that way in the past few weeks. I could've handled the distance myself; that part wasn't a problem. While the journey would take me eight days on foot- six if I pushed myself hard, it was safer to travel as a group. Travelling alone made you an easy target for the bandits that liked to haunt the forests and steep hills between the two settlements, and I couldn't afford the delay of trying to find any safer route around.

The man rocked his chair back so as to leisurely prop his stained boots up on the table, effectively spattering mud all over the map I'd laid there. I repressed a snarl, and settled for a skewering glare, watching angrily as he weighed my drawstring purse in one hand, speculating, the promising clinking of exactly one hundred coppers shifting in his long, pale fingers.

"One hundred seventy, or we leave you behind."

One hundred seventy copper pieces; almost twice as much as he'd agreed to in the first place, and indefinitely seventy more pieces than I could afford to give.  I shook my head in frustration, watching annoyance flare in his almost uninterested gaze.

"One hundred, and that's it; I need some left over for supplies, and to pay for living expenses when I get there." I bartered, refusing to pay any more than the already inflated amount the man had grasped in his palms. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have offered any more than eighty pieces to begin with for a journey so short; but with the lack of travelers headed to Fornost, I'd taken my chances, and agreed to the higher amount.

It was beginning to look like the risk had been a worthless one.

The man scowled, his nonchalant mask dissipating like fine mist.

"One hundred fifty, then; no less!"

I shook my head again, and the man growled, swinging his feet off the table, disturbing my map so that it drifted to the floor, and hurling the drawstring pouch back at me.

"If you don't pay, you don't come." He snarled decisively, stalking around the other patrons of the busy inn, and out through the heavy oak door. I watched him leave, irritation and a sense of failure pounding down on me all at once as I bent down to collect my map, noting the smears of dark mud the man's boots had made on the thick scroll.

A few choice words came to mind as I rolled the parchment up quickly, wiping my hands on my tunic afterwards, and wishing someone would open a window or door to let out the roiling clouds of smoke that filled the whole tavern from ceiling to floor.

I wouldn't be able to get the scent of tobacco out of my garments for a month at this rate.

" _Damn_ it all." Spitting angrily, I bit my lip as I wondered what to do next, the map still clenched tightly in my fist, worthless at this rate if I couldn't find another party to travel with.

Regardless of whether I made it to Fornost or not, I  _needed_ to get out of Bree. I'd spent too long in the trading village, and it was obvious that I wasn't going to be finding any easy routes or clues to my family from the innkeepers and mead makers. Somewhere, there had to be an answer, a way back to them- I just had to find it.

Bree had not been the solution.

I cursed once more, stuffing my soiled map into the inner pocket of my ruana, drawing up my hood, before storming out the same door the man had departed through just minutes beforehand.

It was raining; it always seemed to be raining in Bree. Everything was a muddy, murky mess, and I grimaced as my boots instantly sank an inch into the supersaturated dirt. As if I needed to feel any lower than I had been already.

Four years. Four years I'd been separated from them, with no evidence that they were okay or even alive. Four years without knowing where they were. Four years without knowing who'd been responsible for their disappearance or, perhaps,  _my_ disappearance in the first place.

I scowled the whole walk back to the inn I'd been frequenting for the past week, my boots soggy, and squelching audibly by the time the green sign came into sight, the white horse painted on the aged wood shining like a polished shilling in the gloom of the night. The Prancing Pony; a decent establishment, all things considered, and about as close to home as home could get for the current time being.

The warmth of the little building drew me into a welcome embrace as I stepped through the door and into the rather crowded tavern area, my short stature and no doubt fearsome looking expression pulling unwanted attention from all corners of the room.

Dwarves evidently weren't common in Bree; at least, not as common as Hobbits and humans- and even Hobbits were somewhat scarce in the busy trading town. I fought down the urge to glare as a few too-curious glances were tossed my way by the merry-goers of the evening, their eyes brimming over their mugs.

Places like this were dangerous- fox dens disguised as hen houses. Information could be passed along as easily as the next drink, secrets spilling from loose lips more quickly than ale could flow past them. They weren't places where you wanted to raise your head, raise attention, and become the story told over someone's next mug.

"Back again, eh?" My frustration ceased minimally as a semi-familiar face came into view, friendly and inviting. I'd met the serving girl earlier in the week; as strange as the odds would have it, she was dwarven, like myself, though she carried herself tall. She was a hard one to miss in a crowd; her somewhat messy, curly mane of red hair attested that much, and drew even more attention than I did, which was something I was more than willing to welcome.

"Still here, yeah?" I joked in return, quirking an eyebrow. 

She smiled, and tucked her serving platter under her arm. Small talk between the two of us earlier in the week had revealed that she was, in fact, from a remote area in the Old Forest between Hobbiton and Bree. She lived with an elderly healer and worked as her apprentice. The two had recently come to Bree for supplies, and the young woman had taken up a temporary position waitressing to cover the cost of their room and meals.

"No worries; I'm sure someone will come around. In the meantime, can I get you anything?"

A few snarky suggestions immediately sprang to mind, but I quickly shot them down, harshly reminding myself that I liked this girl, and that my anger wasn't directed towards her.

I politely, if somewhat flatly in my disappointment, turned her down instead, making my way to the back of the crowded tavern before finding an empty seat at a table along the wall, and making myself comfortable. A sopping wet ruana found itself draped over the back of my chair, a drenched satchel was ditched unceremoniously on the ground, and a slightly damp map was laid out across the oak surface of the table and pinned down along the edges with whatever was nearby and readily available- partly so it too could dry out, and also partly so I could scan it again.

There wasn't much point, really. I felt better reevaluating my next move even though I was certain in the fact that I wouldn't be changing my course. Nobody would be going through Bree to where I hadn't been already- major ports around the trading city, but never as far out to places such as Rivendell or, The Valar forbid, as far as Lothlorien.

As if to taunt me, several of the cities inked into the parchment already had a large charcoal ' **X** ' drawn over their names, like someone had tried to combine a patchwork of treasure maps onto one page. It felt so horrendously ironic, looking at the little lines, that I had to hold back a bitter laugh. It appeared that 'X' did not, in fact, mark the spot for me.

I sat back in my chair, eyeing the names that stood out; the ones that weren't crossed through. The places I hadn't been yet. Admittedly, there was still a lot of ground to be made. I'd been searching for four years... But four years wasn't a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, nor in the grand scheme of _travel_ , it would seem. I'd covered an impressive amount of territory in the northwest region of the map, the paper riddled with marks scratched all over in increasing frustration, but the rest of it was depressingly bare-

Including the stretch from Bree to Fornost; a journey, that it appeared, I probably wouldn't be making any time soon, if the events of the afternoon were any indication. I couldn't suppress a groan this time, rubbing at my temples and grimacing as I tried to focus anywhere but the map before me.

The inn was more full that night than it had been in all the evenings previous. It was remarkable I'd found a place to sit, given how tightly packed the room was. The air was heavy with the voices of travelers looking for a shelter from the rain and a steady flow of mead. And, looking around with a rather lofty surge of distaste roiling in my gut, it appeared that several were looking for a bit more warmth than the blazing fire in the fireplace to my left could offer; perhaps an extra body in their borrowed bed to share the late hour with.

I choked on rising bile as a few speculative gazes swept up and down my person and decided the view of my map, while frustrating, was still better than the display laid out before me.

Four years, and no clues or indications as to where I was supposed to go, or what I was supposed to do next. It was aggravating to no end, and disheartening as well...

What made it worse was that I wasn't looking for some _thing-_ no, rather, I was looking for some _where._ Somewhere being home, and home being a place that I hadn't seen in a long time.

I could remember my family. My parents, grandparents, my older brother Tommy; I could remember their names, and vaguely what their faces looked like, but never their voices. I could remember that I'd once told a joke that made my father laugh so hard he cried, but I couldn't remember the sound of his laughter. I remembered the old birch tree down the dirt road a few houses, but not what my own house had been like, or where it was.

Scowling bitterly, I eventually grew tired of the map again as well, and rolled it up, shoving it to the side of the table. My memory was as full of holes as a crochet blanket, my feet were so sore, I could have sworn I'd walked off five layers of skin, and my coin purse was getting lighter and lighter by the day as I waited for a party willing to take one more traveller.

As the noise and sights and smells of the crowded inn began to leak back into my senses, I found myself closing my eyes against them, and continuing to rub at my temples. It had been a long day, and I was just on the verge of packing up all my belongings and retiring to my own room, when I heard a familiar voice over the white noise of the tavern.

Sure enough, with that platter tucked firmly under her arm, and her red hair blazing like a beacon, the apothecary's apprentice stood in the middle of the mess, firmly talking down to a man sitting across from where she stood. Had he risen to his feet, he would have nearly doubled the dwarrowdam in height, but for now he sat casually in his seat, smirking at her in the stupid way that only a sufficient amount of alcohol coursing through the bloodstream could achieve. My interest piqued, I watched the exchange quietly, trying to decipher the young woman's irritated tone and the man's drawling words.

It wasn't until the man's arm shot out to grab out her that I understood the situation, half out of my seat before I even realized I was reacting, but the medic beat me to whatever I'd decided my course of action would be. With blazing eyes, she simply swept up the pint of heavy ale that she'd placed on the table before him, and without batting an eyelash, threw it all in his face.

"Next time, keep your hands on your mug." She announced coldly, loud and clear, before adjusting her platter and storming away, leaving the man to sputter in his own drink. I couldn't help but give a short laugh, watching her cross back over to the counter with the look of a thundercloud growing on her face, more than one person backing warily out of her path.

As the man continued choking and coughing in his chair, I took advantage of the distraction to make my exit and head for my room, intentionally knocking shoulders with him as I passed. Rotten man; I had no sympathy as the rest of the tavern laughed, nor as I counted my new coins later in the flickering candlelight of my bedroom, having lessened the man's weight by twenty silver pieces when I cut his purse from his belt.

Undoubtedly, when his friends would have to carry him out of the tavern later, they'd thank me for lightening the load.

 

 


	3. Chapter Two: Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, it's been forever. Sorry about the wait, guys! School was insane in the second semester. But, guess I'm back!
> 
> We get a new narrator, and some familiar individuals are introduced.

 

**FINCH**

 

I was becoming very,  _very_ sick of playing waitress.

The more time we spent in Bree, the more it was becoming obvious to me; I had well enough patience to comfort and tune out the screams of a man lying broken on a cot, but near to none for one sitting drunk on a bar stool. Holding hands for much-needed support was something I was accustomed to as a healer; batting them away from myself while juggling three tankards of ale was another thing entirely.

"They're...Abhorrent!" I had hurled the word at Rhodel, my mentor, the night before, spitting furiously as I scrubbed at a mead-stain that had appeared along the bottom of my skirt, "It's appalling how they treat the serving girls- like... Like pieces of  _property_ they can just pinch and poke and prod at until they get bored, and pass one along to get a feel of the next. It's sickening!"

Rhodel had nodded in her thoughtfully sour way, her healer's pack laid out carefully across one of the two beds in the room. She was taking stock of our supplies, weighing vials and counting herb fronds, and making notes in a small pocketbook that she carried on her person at all times When she turned to me, her eyes were sympathetic, but not surprised.

"The world of humans," She managed at length, her words short and clipped as ever, "Can be a..." She struggled to think of a polite word, before shrugging dismally, "Rather inhumane place."

Under any other given circumstance, I might have banded sally at the irony of her words, but I was too livid to care.

"Rotten bastards," I muttered, taking my anger out on the ruined fabric.

I didn't stop fussing over my skirt until late into the night, my hands raw and Rhodel sleeping quietly in bed, the candle on our shared nightstand burning low.

We needed the money, despite my many,  _many_ misgivings about waitressing. It was mid-spring, and we were running short on supplies. The winter had been a hard one, and the late frosts had killed most of our early planting. All the coin we had left needed to go towards bartering for goods if we were going to make it through another year, and while I should have been appreciative that the innkeeper had allowed us to exchange labour for room and board, I was finding it difficult to see the positives in our situation.

"You are doing this," I reminded myself through gritted teeth as I balanced a platter of empty bowls in one hand, and wrenched my skirt out of the hands of a tipsy patron with the other, "Because there will be people who need your help, and you can't do that without bandages, and rosemary, and some bloody  _feverfew_ , and-"

"Finch!" I glanced up sharply at the service counter, seeing Arold, the head server, beckoning me over. It was only by a miracle that I managed to stick a strained smile on my face, heading towards him through the swarm like a moth to candlelight, gingerly stepping my way around benches and tables, and skirting pools of what was hopefully spilled drink. The smells and sights and sounds of the tavern were becoming overwhelming, and I could feel the tension in my shoulders spreading through my neck, my nerves more than frayed. I missed the quiet of Rhodel's glade, and the feel of sunshine and the scent of herbs drying in tightly wound bundles, earthy and cleansing, and fresh. It was this longing that only made the walls seem to press in closer, the choking smells of unwashed, travel-ridden bodies and hard tobacco even more offensive.

It took all of my willpower to not ignore Arold completely and bolt for the door, if even just for a few lungfuls of air.

By the time I reached the counter, he was already loading up a new platter for me, this one carrying two bowls of soup and one mug of ale. "To that table there," He gestured over to one corner of the semi-dark room, where three figures were sitting in the partial shadows around a small table. I fought back a groan, but took up the platter without complaint, and made my way through the crowd.

The occupants of the table were newcomers, their faces unfamiliar to me. They were clearly travellers, with their cloaks spread out over the backs of their chairs, various weapons lying sheathed against the wall. They talked quietly amongst themselves, laughing loudly every now and then, but keeping their distance with the rest of the merrymaking in the inn. Part of that, I reasoned after coming closer, might have had to do with their being dwarves. The majority of the rest of the clientele in the inn were humans or hobbits; aside from the rogue traveller Dess, I hadn't met any dwarves in Bree thus far- and even then, the dwarrowdam was more of a mystery than most.

"Two bowls of soup and an ale," I announced flatly, breaking up their conversation, as three pairs of eyes fell on me. It felt off, after serving so many humans, to be able to look down on patrons as they sat.

"Ah, excellent timing, lass!" One of them cheerfully exclaimed. He wore an odd hat, and his black hair was plaited into two braids on either side of his face. He offered a winning smile, "The soup is for me and Kili here," He gestured to another dark-haired dwarf sitting at the end of the table, this one looking significantly younger than his counterpart.  The so-dubbed Kili nodded his head at me in greeting as the older dwarf continued, "And the ale is for that blond ray o' sunshine by ye're elbow, there."

The blond ray of sunshine in question rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, also giving me a nod.

Without a word, I reached out to pass the two dwarves at the end of the table their soup, but the oldest dwarf stopped me before I could hand off the ale.

"Are ye' sure ye' want to start drinking so early in the night, Fili?" He asked cheekily, facing his second companion with his eyebrows raised, "How unlike ye'-"

Kili snorted loudly into his soup, not raising his gaze as Fili grimaced.

"You try taking a spill off your pony, same as I did," The blond retorted shortly, one hand instinctively coming up to touch his ribs as he spoke, "And we'll see who else starts drinking early, Bofur." At that, he turned his attention to me, reaching for the outstretched cup, a smile quickly replacing the grimace on his face.

I could almost hear the flirtatious words undoubtedly about to roll off his tongue, just one more traveller hungry for more than just food after their days of travel on the road. I'd heard it all, from poison-sweet compliments to urgings worded more like threats. And unfortunately for the man before me, I was in no mood to play along. Blistering with frustration and anger, I felt something in me physically  _snap_ like a piece of aged leather pulled too tight.

"Th-" The dwarf began, only to fall silent as I cut him off quickly, bracing a hand on my hip for courage.

"Save your words," I announced, colder than I would have thought myself capable of, the dwarf's eyes widening slightly, "I'm not interested in petty compliments or flirtations. I've had enough men looking for a cheap and easy woman to woo tonight and I'm not the type, so for Eru's sake, it'd be in your best interest to  _keep your damned hands to yourself._ "

There was a moment of stunned silence from those gathered, before Fili took a mild, if not slightly awkward sip of his ale, and blinked.

"-anks." He finished, a small note of amusement in his tone, humour sparkling in his eyes, Kili breaking out into a legitimate laugh this time, and Bofur joining in. I could feel my cheeks redden the same shade as my hair, embarrassment flooding me in a wave.

"You've been warned, brother." Kili managed between gasps, Bofur leaning back in his seat so far I was sure he'd topple out of it, his own laughter light and clear like bells. Even Fili, who probably should've been mortified by my accusations, couldn't resist letting out a chuckle, a wide grin splitting his features.

"I-ugh, I'm sorry." I bumbled, face undoubtedly burning bright as a lantern as I quickly hurried away, hearing the laughter continuing behind me as I walked. One of the dwarves tried calling me back, but I pretended not to hear, ears and cheeks flaming. The sounds of the rest of the tavern quickly swallowed the group, blocking them out of mind as I pointedly kept my serving to the other end of the room, not even risking a glance to see whether or not they were still seated at the distant table. My previous vigour had all but melted away, leaving me horrified at the example I must have made of myself. Where had my head gone? Losing my temper like that on someone who'd done nothing wrong, accusing them of such awful things- Rhodel would be furious no doubt, and I could feel the guilt and shame eating away at my core. With the added stress of the place already wearing me down, plus the blunder, I mulled over it for the remainder of the night, not daring to meet even Arold's eye as he asked me what was wrong.

They didn't call me back over until an hour later, once my shift was over, and I was getting ready to head back up to mine and Rhodel's quarters. The evening had passed without any further mistakes, but I was still flushed with horror and had to fight hard to keep my chin up as I approached the table again. 

By this point in time, Kili was gone, his seat empty, and his cloak and weapons gone with him, and Bofur was in the process of gathering up his things.

"Can I help you?" I asked, glancing nervously between the two remaining dwarves. It was Bofur who smiled kindly and gestured for me to sit, offering his seat as he stood.

"I'm turning in." He told Fili merrily, grasping a rather menacing looking war hammer in one hand, draping his cloak over the same arm. He tipped his hat to me once, before heading for the stairs, whistling jauntily as he went.

"Please," The last remaining dwarf, Fili, gestured once again at the seat across from him, which Bofur had vacated. I hesitated, but upon seeing no ill-will from him, I sat, awkwardly fixing my half-apron, and unsure as to where to look, not daring to meet his gaze.

There was nothing but silence between us for a few, terribly long seconds, before Fili finally made the first move, sliding the bread basket from the table towards me.

"Hungry?" He asked, mouth quirking. I shook my head quickly, uncertain as to what this was about, but afraid that I wasn't going to enjoy it. He took my dismissal in stride, sliding the basket back out of the way after grabbing a roll for himself, "Has it been a rough night?"

"Rough enough," I admitted, crossing my arms over my chest, and giving him a curious look, "Can I ask what this is about?"

Fili paused, mid-bite into his roll, and chuckled lightly, leaning back slightly in his seat.

"I wanted you to know," He said, finally, glancing up at me with a quick flash of a smile, "That you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You gave us quite a laugh."

Blushing once again, I slumped further into the bench, shoulders curving inwards as I tried to disappear.

"I truly am sorry," I mumbled, chastened, "It wasn't proper of me to affront your honour like that; especially after you did nothing wrong."

The young dwarf shrugged off the apology like rain off his shoulders, helping himself to another roll. He winced slightly as he reached across the table, and I remembered then his comment from before about taking a fall.

' _Bruised ribs for sure_.' I mentally noted, catching the dwarf's stiff movement. Fortunately, he didn't catch my studious eye.

"Is it always that bad here?" Fili asked, and catching my confused blink, he elaborated, "How you described the patrons, how they treat you- is it always that bad?"

I sat back, more than a little surprised about the direction this conversation had gone. Still, he seemed genuinely curious, so I answered honestly.

"I've only been here a little while- my mentor and I are staying here at the inn, and the owner was kind enough to let me work to cover our charges. I have limited experience in that regard but," I cringed, crossing my arms tightly over my midsection through nervous habit, "It's... Not pleasant."

The dwarf across from me nodded slowly, taking in this information with a furrowed brow and slight frown. I couldn't help myself as I added, "You're surprisingly considerate of serving staff for a traveller."

At this, the man across from me looked somewhat embarrassed, ducking his head lightly.

"I have to admit, I typically wouldn't have even thought about it," He gave me a pained smile, "Consider it unrecognized traveller's privilege. What's your name?"

This time, I didn't bother masking my studying the dwarf. He seemed friendly; legitimately friendly, and mellow-tempered. The twin swords resting against the soot-stained wall behind him, as well as the vambraces strapped across his forearms, indicated that he was a warrior, and his travel-stained cloak suggested that he had been on the road for quite some time.

"Finch," I introduced myself, the nervous butterflies in my stomach having finally settled down enough for me to take a slice of bread from the basket, and tear the crust off in small pieces, popping them in my mouth one by one.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," The blond finished his roll, and looked hopefully in the basket for another, his face falling slightly when he found none, "I'm Fili, though I believe you already knew that."

I gave him a small grin, before reaching over to the table behind me and snagging the bread basket there, offering it to him. He lit up, quickly selecting another roll. "So tell me, Finch," He continued curiously, head cocked, "How on earth did you end up in a place like this?"

\---------------------------------

It was well over three hours later when I returned to my room, weariness settling into my bones, and the torches in the hallway nothing more than the smallest licks of flame.

"You're late." Rhodel, who had been lying in bed with her back to me, sat up abruptly, her hair, now more silver than blond, tied back in a messy braid, her eyes so alert that I was entirely sure she'd actually been sleeping before I came in.

"I- well, yes." I admitted sheepishly, locking the door behind me, "I decided to stay in the tavern for a bit."

"You hate the tavern," Rhodel stated, not accusingly, but questioningly. I hesitated as I went to wash my hands in the basin on the far side of the room, hidden behind a screen.

"I was talking to some of the patrons," I said by way of explanation, reemerging to meet Rhodel's inquisitive gaze. After a moment, she blinked, a small smile quirking on her face.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my apprentice?"

I shot her a wry grin, before grabbing my nightgown, and heading back behind the screen to change.

Rhodel; I was lucky to have her, I thought, and not for the first time.  Rhodel, who'd taken me in even when she had so little to offer, and who'd nursed me back to health from the brink of death, and who'd given me a home in the little shack that would come to mean more than just a lodging place. She'd taught me her trade, and made sure that I had food to eat and a place to sleep-

"A group of dwarves came in today," She cut through my thoughts as I heard her swing out of bed, surprisingly spry for such an old woman, "You likely saw them, I suppose."

I hesitated a moment, my hand on the screen, ready to pull it away.

"Aye," I responded, somewhat vaguely, not sure where this was going, "I met a few of them downstairs tonight. They seemed decent." Stepping out from behind the screen, I began plaiting my hair, walking over to where my bag was located and looking for some twine to tie it off with, "One of them bruised his ribs taking a fall from a pony today. I recommended a yarrow paste, but-"

"Finch," Rhodel interrupted, grabbing my attention. I spun around to see her holding a rolled piece of parchment fiercely in one hand, her expression a mix of anxiety and excitement. "Finch, they're going to the mountain."

My heart stopped beating in my chest.

"...The mou-  _how do you know this?"_ I began steadily, but my voice fell into an involuntary whisper as I continued, my limbs feeling numb and heavy with shock. Rhodel unrolled the parchment across her bed- a map, I realized moments later, her fingers skimming the yellowed and curling page with near-surgical precision. It was with extreme trepidation that I stepped closer, instinctively drawing close to her side as I often habitually did when things with patients went wrong- not close enough to touch, but to at least share in the solidness of her presence. She was grounding and certain, and I reminded myself of that fact as I watched her study the map, my mentor's face rent with wrinkles and frown lines.

"A few of them mentioned it when they first came in," Rhodel explained, definitively tracing a circle around a specific part of the map with her forefinger, "The Lonely Mountain. Erebor. The mightiest dwarf kingdom of Middle Earth." She shot me a wry smile, her eyes twinking, "They're journeying there, aye. In secret, no doubt, based on how hushed everyone was about the whole thing. Still, you'd be amazed what people are willing to whisper around deaf old ears," She shook her head with a small laugh, "These old ears aren't half as deaf as they look, though."

I wasn't listening. My attention was solely on the map at hand, my mind reeling back to a time and place years ago, where a young girl lay shuddering on a cot, her eyelids fluttering, eyes rolling, burning through with fever and dreaming of a solitary mountain rising out of mist and fire and smoke. I hadn't had the vision in years, but it still remained branded in my mind, as vivid as when I first had it.

"You are meant to go with them," Rhodel insisted, breaking up my thoughts like shattered glass with those simple, seven words. I gaped at her.

"Absolutely not!"

The healer, this woman who I had considered both family and teacher for the last four years, looked at me with stunningly solemn eyes, her gaze more certain than I'd ever seen it be. 

"Tell me, little bird," She murmured softly, the old nickname somehow not carrying its typical comfort, "How much faith do you put in coincidence?"

I watched in silence as she gently rolled up the map once more, and began setting out candles for prayer to the Valar, pulling each one out of her satchel with reverence so passionate, her hands trembled.

"Do you believe it was a coincidence that I found you? That you were there in the first place? Is it a coincidence, the visions you had, and the fact that this group is here now? Is it only coincidence?" My mentor dusted her hands off on her own nightgown distractedly, setting the candles before her, and not looking my way. "They brought you to me- the Valar, that is-" Rhodel said, her voice taking on a hoarse whisper. It was a story I'd heard many times before and didn't have the patience to hear again.

"Because it was a  _blessing_ that you found me, and a  _miracle_ I survived," I continued the tale impatiently, beginning to pace the room, "And my visions  _couldn't_ be fever dreams, right? Isn't that what you say every time that we mention this?" Rhodel looked up at me, stunned by the outburst, and even I was surprised at myself, but I plowed forward anyways. "Rho, the dreams could mean anything. They could mean  _nothing_. I can't remember the past, but I have the future, at least, ahead of me- would you have me shape my entire life around the  _possibility_ of this event being an omen?" I caught her open-eyed stare with determination of my own. "My place is with you- as it always has been."

Dead silence perpetrated the room, the tension between us near palpable. After a few terse seconds, I would eventually mutter something about going to bed, and Rhodel would continue with her prayers, both of us keeping our backs to the other, and our pride blinding our eyes.

I drifted off to sleep that night, restless beyond measure, to the sound of Rhodel murmuring praises and reciting oaths, but not before whispering, " _It wasn't always, child- it wasn't always._ " 

And somehow, it was that phrase, and the knowledge that she was right, that unsettled me the most.


End file.
